She confessed to herself, as she descended the stairs, that she was rather tired. The excitement of the two past days, her uncomfortable bed made of a steamer rug spread on the ground, the night before, and finally the close, dusty air of the attic had combined to give her a headache and a feeling of extreme weariness.
When she reached the cool, darkened library, she sat down for a moment in one of the big chairs and closed her eyes. It was very restful in there. The sun had left that side of the house in the shade and the room with its heavy hangings, its dark leather furniture and rich rugs was full of shadows.
She was almost asleep, a slender little figure in a great armchair of carved black oak. Her head dropped to one side and her eyes closed, when she was awakened with a start by a draught of cold air. One of the curtains next the book shelves bulged out for a moment and Barbara’s eyes were fastened on a long, white hand that drew them aside. Then a face she had seen in the wood looked from around the curtain. The eyes met hers, and again that strange, childlike look of sorrow and amazement filled them.
A dizziness came over Barbara. She closed her eyes for a moment, and, when she opened them again, the face, or phantom, or whatever it was, had gone.
Holding her breath to keep from crying out, Barbara ran from the room as fast as her trembling knees could carry her. In the hall she met José. He looked at her curiously.
“Mademoiselle, have you seen a ghost?” he asked as he stood aside to let her pass.
She was afraid to answer, for fear of bursting into tears.
“I am sorry,” he continued. “Has anything really happened?”
But still she refused to speak, and ran up the stairs.
He turned and went into the library, closing the door after him.